


Astra Inclinant

by residentdm



Series: And Now I'd Like to Take a Bow [5]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Strings Campaign - Freeform, and their piece on Ainsel, definitely not at all related to unexpectedchair, if you came here looking for TAZ search elsewhere, not TAZ, not at all, this really is just Istus being gay by herself, yeah it's that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:02:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26186104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/residentdm/pseuds/residentdm
Summary: Astra Inclinant, Sed Non Obligant; the stars incline us, they do not bind us.Or, in other words, Istus watches the stars.
Series: And Now I'd Like to Take a Bow [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798657
Comments: 2





	Astra Inclinant

Istus sits beneath the stars, the embers of her campfire slowly burning away. She looks up, beyond the embers, beyond her camp, to the celestial bodies above, crystal clear without a town in sight. Still, she must admit, she misses the comfortable weight of Evren’s tavern behind her, even if it hides some of the stars.

  
There have been many authors and poets who have delegated the gods to be like stars, which, Istus supposes, is not entirely untrue. Still, others claimed the gods were stars. She’s glad that is false; she would hate to see the sky so devoid of light.

  
She thinks, idly, about the gods.

  
_If Heironeous were a star,_ she thinks, _he would be bold and brash; one that frightens, and one that guides. Reckless and kind; a beacon._

  
_If Gruumsh were a star,_ she thinks, and Istus mourns, for a moment, the god she never knew, volatile as he may have been. _A leader. An eye-catcher, for sure, big and prideful: at his core, terribly mortal._

  
_If Beory were a star,_ and Istus finds herself wavering, _she would be at the center of the universe. The center of everything. And in her absence...the sky would seem empty._ She lets that sit, hollow, before moving on.

  
_The Raven Queen..._ And here Istus stops. Thinking of Raven makes her think of Lugh, and the panic on his face as he arrived just too late; the lich, torn to shreds yet looking triumphant; and Raven, her Queen, in her final moments, smiling as she only did for Istus. The thoughts circle in her head like a terribly familiar orbit of flies, until Istus wrenches herself away and pulls on another string of thought, tied only to Ainsel.

  
Istus takes solace in the thought of Ainsel. She thinks of her, disguised, holding a feather sacred to her Queen and watching Istus with suspicion back in the Kierekav. She thinks of her at the lost temple, rushing before Krunk to keep his villainous mother from him. She thinks of her at the tavern, so angry about Istus’ betrayal of Ted that she would threaten a god, mortal or not—it brings a smile to Istus’ face.

  
“You would be bright,” she says to the stars, as if they can answer, “brighter than Gruumsh, perhaps even brighter than Heironeous. You would still hide, easily, when people’s eyes turned to you—but those looking could always find you. You’d be the center of a constellation.”

  
It was a form of prayer, to whisper this to the open sky, and Istus knew that.

  
Whenever Istus pictures Ainsel, she sees her at the center of the group; braiding Joshuel’s hair, carrying Toast, laughing with Krunk. Without her they would be incomplete; a constellation missing one of its stars.

  
Overhead, a cloud ambles into view; it hides the moon and a swath of light. Istus stares, straining to see through it, but—they are gone, too far out of sight. The smile slips from her face.

  
Heironeous was lucky. Zeboim, Gruumsh, Beory, _Raven_ —they were not.

  
Istus has seen the stars, up close and from afar. She knows how long it can take before the material plane sees their deaths. _How many others have died? How many of us are gone?_

  
_Who else will I have to lose?_

  
She looks down, abruptly, away from the sky. No one is lost, yet, she reminds herself; they might be able to bring back the dead gods after their divinity has been restored. But she thinks of her party, of Ainsel, and the thought wavers.

  
_If you die,_ she thinks, _I will lose you. If you live,_ she knows, _I will lose you._

  
She thinks of a time, long ago, when she asked the Raven Queen why mortals grieved. “It is not only the death they are grieving, my love,” she said, “but the time they will have to wait.”

  
There is no end to an eternity. Except, she supposes, for situations like this.

  
Istus looks back up at the sky. The cloud continues to pass overhead, a drifting gray mass. The goddess of fate looks past it at the twinkling celestials.

  
She thinks: _I am glad that we are not stars. It would make the distance all the more tough to cross._


End file.
